Following up her haunting debut Atlantique, Senegalese sensation Mati Diop turns her lens to documentary. Seven thousand items were looted from the Kingdom of Dahomey in 1892, kept in museums and vaults in Paris. In 2021, 27 of these devotional and royal objects were packed up and returned to Benin.
Bringing the sculptures to life, with a deep voice in Fon, the indigenous language of the Dahomey, Diop gives a voice to these trapped spirits. Staring into a void, like the viewer too is stuck for a century in storage, the voice rumbles poetically, about being displaced and going home, about a world that won't recognise him, and that he won't recognise.
“There are thousands of us lost in this night, uprooted”.
It is a deeply powerful perspective, to recognise that these pieces aren't just culturally significant but imbued with emotional power. Much like the Rapa Nui sculpture in the British Museum, there's a sense of yearning and homesickness, that the sculptures are displaced and have family that miss them.
These supernatural elements echo Diop's Atlantique, whereas the rest of the documentary follows a more traditional montage of observational footage. The objects are carefully measured, weighed, examined for marks by a series of anonymous white-gloved professionals.
These Oxymandian figures, framed as the sources of such a powerful voice are picked up gingerly and placed face down into packing containers. And when they arrive in Benin, once again, they're placed in glass cages, lights turned off and plunged into darkness once again. For them, what's changed?
Diop's film flits between visitors, museum professionals and impassioned students, beautifully interrogating the significance of this repatriation through a mosaic of perspectives. 27 sculptures, a milestone or an insult? A historical step or a purely political move? A force for change or an appeasement through an incremental donation? Where do these statues belong, are they art, history, or religion? Is the museum a Western invention, accessible but robbing these pieces of their homes in temples?
Striking the balance between scepticism and optimism, both sides of this coin are displayed. On one hand, the red carpet rolled out to celebrate these objects' return and dancers lining the streets, rejoicing through song. On the other hand, echoed by many others within the film, Diop herself says that returning just 27 statues is “humiliating”, but whatever this event means, something has shifted.
Deserving of its Golden Bear at Berlinale, Dahomey gently brings viewers on the journey of decolonisation and restitution. Rather than platforming Macron, and other politicians involved, she focuses purely on the objects and their recipients, their opinions are the only ones that matter in this discussion. This story is a microcosm of how language, culture, and mythology has been stolen, and whether that damage can actually be repaired. It doesn't provide the answers, but it brings up the right questions and a litany of important voices.
Dahomey is showing as part of the BFI London Film Festival 2024.